A WORLD APART
CAMELIA MIRON SKIBA
Copyright © 2011 by Camelia Miron Skiba
www.cameliamironskiba.wordpress.com
Smashwords Edition
SMASHWORDS Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook man not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover design by Nikki Cassis and Susan Selkirk
Photography by Francesco Cura
Imants Ozolin
Stanislav Peron
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, real places or events are entirely coincidental. All characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination.
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To all men and women in uniform…
To you, my hero.
Rest in peace. May you live in our hearts for all eternity.
To you, my hero.
May you be safe day and night, fighting the enemy.
To you, my hero.
Welcome home!
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1
Military Hospital | Bucharest, Romania
December 27th, 2006 | 1600 hours
“Why me?” Cassandra Toma asked, looking at the orders in her hand, then back at her superior, pulse throbbing in her temples.
“Questioning your orders?” Major Voicu didn’t lift his gaze, signing a pile of documents.
She took a deep breath, gritting her teeth before saying, “Sir, without sounding disrespectful, I want to know why you chose me for this assignment? There are hundreds of doctors working in this hospital and yet, you chose me. Why do you send me to work with Americans when you know exactly how I feel about the invasion?” Her stomach tightened painfully.
Major Voicu dropped the pen on his desk and reclined in his leather seat. He looked at her, taking his time to answer. He removed his glasses, lifting them into the air and, using a soft cloth, he cleaned them with slow circular moves. He blew on them, fogging and cleaning them more. As if to aggravate Cassandra, he repeated the process once again.
“Lieutenant Toma, I can report you as noncompliant, but, to show you I’m not heartless, I’ll tell you why.” He stood and walked around to face her, squeezing between the desk and her body. He bowed his bony head and their noses nearly touched. His breath hit her face, smelling of stale coffee and nicotine. Blood-shot eyes looked down at her bosom as he swallowed hard, pursing his lips.
The man’s proximity chilled her like a cold rain. Cassandra took two steps back and, reaching for her scrubs, pulled the lapels tight against her neck. She turned her head sideways; a gag reflex shuddered through her—hopefully, he got the message.
He sighed and sat perched on the edge of his desk while one leg dangled in the air, his hands clasped on his lap. “Lt. Toma, I hate to lose you. You’re our best ER surgeon and you speak English, two of the fundamental criteria we were told to look for when we made the nominations. You also don’t have a family. Deploying someone like you to a different assignment is that much easier.”
Notorious for arguing, Cassandra considered a rebuttal. She wanted to open her mouth and rebel against his reasons. She’d probably get her way in the end, but she’d rather become a nun than accept Major Voicu’s unwarranted advances. She straightened her shoulders, saluted him and exited the office. Never having to see that pig’s face again was the best thing that could possibly come out of this transfer.
Arriving in her office Cassandra turned on the lights. Only 1615 hours and Bucharest was already immersed in darkness. Her excruciating twenty-four hour shift had ended and her mood, usually cheerful, soured in the past ten minutes. She read the deployment orders again, to Mihail Kogalniceanu, the Air Force Base near Constanta. She didn’t want to relocate. Not even to Constanta where she’d be near the Black Sea and the beach. But as an active officer, she couldn’t refuse her orders. In less than seven weeks, she’d have to report to her new commanding officer.
She sat, closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Why did the Romanian government have to get involved in this stupid Iraq invasion? The country’s poor economy, corrupt administration and miserable living conditions already drained the nation of its vitality. Why fuel the fire? Those nosy Americans—once again they act as if they are the world’s only savior. Just one more reason to dislike them.
Cassandra took off her operating cap and loosened the heavy loop of hair. It felt liberating to spread it across her back, massage her scalp and feel the blood tingling through her skin. She caught sight of the picture on her desk. She smiled at Robert’s typical impish grin, as he hugged her during their last vacation hiking the Carpathians. That vacation seemed like a distant memory, lost somewhere deep in her heart like so many other memories.
If only Robert would return home. If only he’d call and tell her that everything would be all right. His last assignment took him to Yugoslavia where, together with N.A.T.O. troops, Romanians fought to reinstall peace and order in a country torn by war for over a decade. Not seeing him for the past two years didn’t ease the pain.
Cassandra wouldn’t cry. She wouldn't let the fear for his life completely settle in her mind; she’d go crazy. Time to go home.
She walked to her car, a fur coat sheltering her from the frigid temperatures, when a camera light blinded her. She held a gloved hand up to cover her face and said, “Not tonight, guys, not tonight.” She picked up the pace, avoiding looking into the camera.
“No juicy details? Nothing for us? Come on, Ms. Toma,” one reporter said, “We’ve been freezing our asses off out here, hoping you’d give us something worth waiting for.” One of the reporters shoved the microphone in her face, forcing her to turn her head away. Another one held up a strong light. Someone else snapped quick pictures.
Cassandra reached her car and opened the door. She threw her purse on the passenger seat, “Sorry to disappoint you; you aren't making any headlines with me tonight.”
“The Senator’s house. You haven’t spent a night there in a long time. The latest allegations must’ve been a big blow to you. How many times does a woman see such graphic photos of her husband-to-be?” The three men chuckled, while one held her door, and bowed his head, a confident smirk on his face.
Inside her car, she looked up at him. Smiling innocently, she grabbed the door to close it, “As an informed reporter you should probably know that the allegations have been made up to destroy Mr. Florescu’s reputation before the elections. And, again, thank you for paying close attention to my sleeping habits. My fiancé has been away at a conference in Barcelona, where he’ll stay for a few more days.” She slammed the door shut and rolled down the window. “Don’t hurry to follow me; I’m going home.” Her foot hit the gas and she sped away.
No matter how often she had to go through this kind of attention, she hated it. From the moment she accepted to step out with Vlad, the famous Senator Florescu almost a year ago, her very private life became an open book for the public. His latest photos making the front page on several newspapers and magazines didn’t subdue the frenzy either. Interest in their personal affairs was more intensified than ever before.
She dialed Vlad’s direct line, keeping a watchful eye on the icy road.
“I can’t do anything without being followed by paparazzi."
“Why, hellooooo to you too, Sunshine, you’re missing me, I take it?” Vlad chuckled.
“It's not funny.”
“Love, if you would let my people guard you, no one would ever bother you. Tell me where you are. I’ll have someone come and take care of you this instant.”
“You know I don’t want a bodyguard. I want to be left alone. I didn’t sign up for this.” Cassandra came to a halt at the next intersection, waiting for the green light. A gipsy teenager with her baby strapped in a rag around her back made her way between the cars, begging for money.
Vlad sighed. “My love, just a few more months. Until I have my seat secured. I know it's hard on you, but I need you. Please?”
Cassandra rolled down the window and placed a few coins in the mother’s hand, then drove away. “Vlad, we must talk. It’s serious.”
“I’m coming home in three days. Come to my house, I’ll have a nice dinner cooked for us.”
“Three days. See you then.” Cassandra hung up and continued driving. Snow came down with large flakes so abundant it forced her to turn on the wipers. Great, on top of everything snow is all I need...
2
Luke Air Force Base | Litchfield Park, Arizona
December 30th, 2006 | 0100 hours
David lay naked in his king-size bed, arms folded behind his head. No one to hold, no one to share his bed with. The sheets felt cold around him and the only noise came from the ceiling fan. Long after midnight his thoughts kept him awake. That, and a throbbing headache that started during the five-hour reconstructive surgery he performed that morning. Not even four painkillers helped. It seemed too much for just one day. Alternating between the surgery, the divorce papers he signed that afternoon, and Colonel Jameson’s news, his thoughts wandered...
“Dr. Hunt, Colonel Jameson expects you in his office,” his assistant said as he walked by her desk.
“Thanks, Linda, I’ll be there in five.” David closed the door behind him. He went to his desk and skimmed through a pile of letters neatly arranged by his assistant. The one on top caught his attention. He looked at the return address—Johnson & Johnson, Law Firm—an office address in Los Angeles. He dreaded opening it, but like most things delaying wouldn’t make it easier; the sooner he signed the papers, the better.
His wife Rachel had left him two years ago while he was still on duty in Baghdad, Iraq. They met during David’s sophomore year in college. Her soft-spoken voice, her simplicity and passion for music lassoed his heart. They married after graduation and thought that love would be enough to see them through life’s hardships, moving from one continent to another and one war or another. As it turned out, it didn’t.
He returned to the U.S. and started a new life at the Luke Air Base in Arizona, hoping she’d come back. She decided against it. After two full years of separation she asked for a divorce. She now lived in Los Angeles, loved her work and had met someone she hoped one day to marry. It seemed there was definitely no going back for her.
David tore the envelope open, and signed without reading the papers. They had nothing to share.
“Please, mail this envelope for me,” David instructed his assistant on his way out. He walked down the hall, greeting the staff as he walked by and, after a short knock, he entered the Colonel’s office.
“Colonel Jameson, at your orders,” David saluted his superior, standing at attention.
“At ease, Dave. Have a seat,” Colonel Jameson said in his baritone voice. “Want a cigar?”
“No, thanks. I have a headache,” David said, taking a seat across from the Colonel’s desk.
“Thought you’d start preaching about how deadly these things are, like my wife always does.” Colonel Jameson cut the end of his cigar and lit it up. He drew in a long breath and blew out a loose ring of smoke. “So, here’s the deal. My assistant is calling for an urgent meeting tomorrow at 0800. Saddam Hussein has been executed. Washington expects more attacks against us and our allies, which means more troops will be deployed, including officers like you and me. We also need more medical personnel for the hospital we now have in Romania. I thought of you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your request, Colonel. I was planning to not renew my commission. Thought we’d discussed this,” David spoke with a severity that transcended a brash tone, wholly unintended like a misfired pistol.
“Look, Hunt. I’m between the sea and the devil here; I need all my men for this. Before the Iraq invasion there was an agreement signed between our government and the Romanians’, giving us authority to deploy soldiers to Constanta, the base they have near the Black Sea. There is a hospital on the base. Many soldiers are brought in with wounds too serious to be treated in Iraq. They can’t make it to our bases in Germany or the States, so Constanta is a strategic place. I wanted to share this with you, give you a bit more time to mull it over. You have to decide if you are up for this. Because of your situation…”
This was the longest David had ever heard Jameson speak. It surprised him how much his soon to be ex-father-in-law still cared for him.
“I signed the divorce papers ... before I came to your office.” David shifted in his chair. He rubbed his neck with one hand, wishing for the throbbing headache to disappear.
“You okay?” Jameson watched him intently, as if searching for a lost answer. He continued puffing his cigar.
“I guess. Eventually that was the course. I knew it for a while, didn't I?” David looked down. “You said Romania? How soon?”
“More details at the meeting tomorrow. Up for a drink?” Colonel Jameson stood, grabbing his briefcase.
“Thanks, but I have to stop by the ICU. Check on my patient. Thanks for the info, Colonel. I really appreciate you giving me the heads up.” David stood to follow Jameson out of the office.
“This is the last time. No more favors. You’re not my son-in-law anymore, you know?” The Colonel shook David’s hand. He smiled, something David didn’t see very often, while on the base or in uniform.
They left, moving in different directions, Jameson to the parking structure, David back to the hospital for the evening patient rounds.
David's earlier patient, a sergeant, had an ugly wound from an explosion that left his right arm butchered. David, with a team of reconstructive surgeons and nurses, had operated for five hours. In the end, it was worth it. The sergeant would be able to use his arm again, but that could take close to six, maybe even nine months. His patient was fully awake and after checking his sutures, David returned to his office.
By the time he left it was well after 2100 hours. He was in no rush to get home. No one waited for him. The house had never felt emptier than it felt that night. He showered and watched TV. He then went to bed, where he lay awake for a while, thinking about the imminent war, his love for medicine and his job. He thought about making the right decision concerning the news he’d received that evening from his superior.
An hour later David was still awake. He got on the internet and looked up Romania, then Iraq. He found out that the weather in Romania was cold this time of the year, snow and low temperatures throughout the country. The Black Sea was located in the southeast side of the country, bordering the Russians and Bulgarians. He researched Constanta and the air base there, and came across some articles and photos. Climate, location, history and characteristics were so distinctive, yet the countries had one single thing in common; at one point, a dictatorship had governed Romania and they had gotten rid of it. Iraq’s turn was close.
David stirred under the covers and, after turning sideways, he forced himself to keep his eyes shut. What should I do? When he finally fell asleep he had the answer.
3
Bucharest | Romania
December 30th, 2006 | 2100 hours
Cassandra was on her way to Vlad’s villa, dread in her heart at the upcoming confrontation. His chauffeur picked her up at the hospital, much later than her shift was supposed to have ended due to an unexpected complication in the operating room. She had called Vlad, told him not to wait on her with dinner. It would be too late anyway.
Seated in the back of the limo, Cassandra fidgeted with her engagement ring, an obscenely large square diamond set on a wide white gold band, her thoughts deepening. Her life would change in only a few weeks; new assignment, new location, new people. She didn’t do well with change, let alone with such radical change.
She had lived her entire life in Bucharest; maybe not the best place in the world, but for her, good enough. Used to its busy life, its dense and colorful crowd, its crazy traffic, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, unless she had 365 sunny days, all year long. For the past several years she attended month-long training programs at various hospitals in London, Sidney and Los Angeles—much nicer and better places than Bucharest—yet she had always been happy to just return home.
And then, there was Vlad. She smiled thinking of his sweet, adoring face. Twelve years her senior Vlad was a successful doctor turned politician who kept his private life as simple and careless as possible, so when the media looked for scandals, he had not once given them anything to talk about. That was until half a year ago when paparazzi caught him hugging another man in a more than friendly manner. Being suspected gay and a politician in a very judgmental Romanian society were traits that wouldn't help anyone survive under the scrutiny of the public eye. His bright political career risked definite ruin.
They’d been very close friends for years when Cassandra came to his rescue, accepting to be his fiancée, not just for the sake of his career, but also in honor of what had brought them together in the first place, so many years ago.
The limo stopped and the door opened. “We’ve arrived, Miss Toma,” the chauffeur announced.
“Thank you, Mr. Sandu.”
She hurried up the stairs as Vlad swung the door open. Always perfectly groomed and dressed, he looked nothing out of the ordinary. Tall and slim, he wore a beige turtleneck sweater, dark jeans and casual black slip-on shoes. She always thought his best features were his greenish-brown eyes—sparkling when excited and colder than ice when mad—and the Y-shaped gap in his chin, drawing attention to his bony jaw.
“My love, so good to see you,” Vlad said, his voice gruff, smiling and hugging her at the top of the stairs.
“Good to see you too.” Cassandra returned the hug then tried to pull away.
“Wait. Not yet,” he whispered at her temple. “There is a van parked on the other side of the street taking pictures.” He took her head between his palms, smiled down at her and kissed her gently on the lips.
Cassandra played along, embracing Vlad’s thin shoulders. To an outsider, the act looked real, as any happy, loving couple might greet one another.
“Lets get you inside, before you freeze, my love,” he pulled her inside, shut the door closed and with it the world’s indiscretion.
Vlad helped Cassandra out of her winter coat. “I hope it was convincing enough. They followed me from the airport and have been camped outside the villa since.”
Cassandra shook her head and rolled her eyes. She placed her purse on the nearby entry table. “I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t for all the money in the world.”
Vlad pushed both hands through his dark, slicked back hair then slipped a finger between his neck and his sweater as if trying to loosen it. “I decided long ago it’s a price worth paying. We need different people in the government or the country is going to fall apart even more.”
He took her hand and began walking toward the kitchen, when Cassandra said, “I’m not hungry. Let’s go to your office.”
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re troubled by something more than just the paparazzi.”
Once in the office Vlad closed the double doors, offered Cassandra a glass of cherry brandy and helped himself to a glass of tequila.
“So, my love, what’s the matter?” he sat next to her.
She turned to see him better, bringing her legs up on the sofa and tucking them under. “We’re running out of time. You promised this was only going to be for a few months, until the elections are over.”
“I know, but I’m afraid that if we make our breakup official, they’ll come after me with a vengeance. My office is working hard to keep the media off my back, but for some reason there is always a reporter close by. I’m pretty sure my enemies are behind it all, bribing scandal magazines to go after me. I’ve made even more enemies now that I’m trying to keep the promises I made during the elections; all they care about is how to fatten their own bank accounts.” He turned toward her, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa, his temple against his fist. “I hate that I dragged you into it.”
Cassandra shrugged. “I wanted to help, you know? What makes it worse is the subject you've opened up. How many declared gay people are running for government office? In Romania, we didn’t even know such people existed until fifteen years ago. Being seen with Adam was incredibly reckless, but what is done is done. At least our engagement threw the media off track, though I didn’t expect their interest to last so long.”
“Oh, speaking of our engagement, I brought you something,” Vlad walked to his desk, picked up a long black box, and handed it to her. “I saw this in Barcelona and I thought of you immediately. It has your name written all over it, as if the designer created this piece of art with you in mind; a blond angel with the most incredible blue eyes ever, with the grace of a swan, but fiery as a meteorite, burning everything in its path through the atmosphere.”
Leave it to Vlad to make things sound more complicated than they were. And leave it to Vlad to change the subject at the worst moment.
“That is ridiculous even coming from you.” Cassandra laughed wholeheartedly, holding the box in her hand, not wanting to open it. She continued, “I hate to tell you, but I have too many sins to be an angel. According to my ballet teacher that’s nothing graceful about me, so I’m not a swan either. The meteorite comparison seems to be the only true one.”
“My love, you’re just unique, that’s all I meant. And I’m lucky to have you in my life.” He gallantly kissed her hand, then retrieved his glass and sipped out of it. “Open the box.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want you spending money on me? It’s a fake engagement, remember? You don’t have to give me presents just because I accepted your arrangement,” Cassandra said, again uncomfortable, like so many other times when he offered her something and again her words fell on deaf ears.
He removed the box from her hands, opened it and lifted out a bracelet, so beautiful, Cassandra gasped for air—the sky’s color and its clouds compressed in deep blue oval sapphires surrounded by brilliant small diamonds set in white gold.
“This is a one-of-a-kind jewel, as you are for me, Cassandra,” Vlad took her wrist, but before he could clasp it, she pulled her hand away.
“It’s too much, I can’t take it.” She stood and walked to the window, looking out into the night. The van was gone.
Vlad came and turned her to face him, put a finger under her chin and lifted it up toward him.
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
“I know. I know you love me.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “But the way you love me … it’s not what I want, what I need. I can’t truly be your wife, just to live a rich existence, buried under expensive gifts, only to offer you a cover.”
Vlad sighed, his eyes brimming with sadness. “I wish I could give you what you want, what you deserve … If I were ever to be with a woman, you’d be the only one I’d want.”
“Your heart is in the right place, but not your mind or your body. You have to do what’s best for you. You and Adam have been together for three years. It’s unfortunate our society is so judgmental, but I can’t continue like this.”
“Cassandra, please don’t give up on me right now. I really need you. Just for a few more months until I figure out something else. They’ll rip me apart as soon as they catch wind you broke up with me.” Vlad became agitated. He walked away from her, gripping the back of his neck and pacing the room. He stopped, looked at her and said, “Why are you in such a hurry? Have you found someone?”
“Of course not,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not about that. You know I have no interest whatsoever in a serious relationship. It’s just…”
She walked the few steps between them and pulled her deployment order out of her pocket and handed it to him.
As soon as Vlad read the papers he said, “I can fix that.” He went to his desk and picked up the phone, punching a few buttons and dropping in his chair.
Cassandra hurried and pressed the hook switch. “But I don’t want you to.”
“Why? You don’t want to move to Constanta, do you? Starting over from scratch when you have a life here? You should seriously reconsider. Let me take care of this matter; all I need is to make a phone call to the Minister of Justice.”
Cassandra took the phone from his hand, put it down and sat on his lap, hugging his neck. She rested her forehead against his, massaged his neck. She could feel his body go rigid.
“Hear me out; I know you’re scared, but this is giving us a way out of this fake engagement. I’ll be in Constanta serving our country, you’ll be here trying to save our economy. Media needs dirt and scandal. They aren’t going to follow us, two engaged, boring people living apart. All you need to do is be really careful to not be seen with Adam.”
“There’s nothing boring about you, my love. Media doesn’t follow me for me, but me with you. Together we look like the beauty and the beast,” Vlad placed one arm around her waist and the other, limply on her thigh, sighing deeply. He paused for a while, and finally continued, “I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t imagine not seeing you anymore. Truth be told, I don’t even see Adam as often I see you. I’m having a panic attack,” his manicured fingers drummed her leg, his breathing rapid.
Cassandra chuckled and rocked on his lap. “No, you’re not. For a fearless politician and a doctor who’s seen plenty of drama, you behave like a child. Constanta is not at the end of the world. You’ll come and see me.”
“With whom am I going to stay up all night and debate politics and religions and music and books? Who is going to come with me to all those tedious parties? Or play poker and karate and con—”
“You’ll be just fine.” She pressed two fingers to his mouth, forcing him to shut up and kissed the tip of his nose. She hopped off his lap and, looking at the engagement ring, she pulled it halfway off her finger.
Vlad stopped her, clasping his palm over hers. “Keep the ring. I have no use for it; it was custom made for you.”
“What am I supposed to do with it? I don’t wear it half the time, especially when I’m at work. And my life from now on will be just work, at least until this stupid deployment is over. Besides, I can’t wear it anymore, since I just broke up with you.”
He turned pale, his eyes widened. “Oh my God, this feels so real. Why are you even doing this? You don’t like being in the army anyway.”
Cassandra tilted her head and sighed. “I don’t like the military career, but I like being a doctor and being close to Robert.”
“Does he know about your deployment?”
“Not yet. For the past month I haven’t even heard from him. I hope he’s all right. I’ll never get use to him risking his life in some far away country.”
Vlad embraced her and kissed the top of her head. He let out one heavy sigh, and another one. “I’m being so selfish. I don’t even offer you the support you need. It’s you making major changes in your life and yet I fret over my own little problem.” He let her go, pushed both hands through his hair, straightened his sweater and said, “Before you leave, I want to organize a party for you, a big one and you can’t refuse it.”
***
Cassandra stepped out of the limo, thanked the chauffeur and walked to her apartment building. The knee-length fur coat didn’t seem to keep the night’s frigid air from sneaking under and giving her the chills. She wobbled through drifts of crunchy snow and managed to arrive in one piece at the building’s door—high-heeled boots and snow didn’t make a good combination. I hate winters. I hate snow.
She took the elevator to the sixth floor, keys in hand, stomping her boots as she unlocked the door. Finally, she could relax. Her anxiety to see Vlad, and their subsequent discussion, left her exhausted, on top of a long day spent in the operating room. She planned on spending the next day looking for apartments in Constanta, maybe finding a realtor able to recommend something close to the base.
As she entered her apartment she heard the TV on and the shower running. Her heart plummeted and her legs refused to move. She stood in the hallway, paralyzed, listening, gripping the door’s knob. She didn’t dare to hope. She looked around and saw a pair of military boots, a thick, dark-green coat and a large backpack. A gruff hum replaced the sound of running water.
She hurried to the bathroom and pounded on the door. “Robert, is that you?”
The humming stopped and the door opened several incredibly long seconds later. Robert’s burly build filled the doorway. Wrapped in a bathrobe, his usual stiff smile, he caught her in his arms and simply said, “Hi, sister.”
***
“I’m not returning to Kosovo,” Robert said, toweling his soldier-cut hair.
“You’re not? Does it mean you’ll stay here in Bucharest?” Cassandra asked, her voice full of hope, looking at her brother.
“No. I received a different assignment. But for the next two weeks I’ll be home with you.”
Robert poured half a bottle of red wine in a pot, turned on the stove and mixed in peppercorns and cinnamon. Shortly, the wine began boiling and the smell of spices filled the air—the best smell and drink on a cold winter night, Cassandra’s favorite. Robert filled two mugs, handed one to his sister, then they walked into the living room, and sat on the sofa.
“What do you want to do?” Cassandra asked, blowing into her drink.
“Nothing really, other than spending time with you. I haven’t been home in so long, I almost forgot how the city looks, what to do with my free time,” Robert replied, holding his mug with wine. He took a sip of the hot drink, smacked his lips and said, “Oh, I know what I want to do. I’m so sick of canned food, I want to cook every single day, all three meals and then have you tell me what’s good and what’s not.”
Cassandra puffed and looked sideways at him, “What am I, your guinea pig?”
“No, but you’ll invest in my restaurant.”
“Your what?”
Robert held her gaze, nodded and said, “I decided to retire from the army. I’ve done everything I could to serve and fulfill my duty. The direction our army is going is not my vision. We need a better structure, better equipment, better training. But instead, we go to war for others and lose our soldiers for causes that have nothing to do with the oath we took to serve and defend our country.” Robert put the mug down, slapped his knee and, looking at his sister, he added, “It’s about time I do something for myself, you know?”
Emotions choked Cassandra. Robert had been her anchor since picking her up at the orphanage. Her life revolved around him, the only relative she had left. Their father, trying to break free from the country, had been caught and killed by the Communists during interrogations. Then, they came after her mother. Cassandra was only five then, but the memory of that tragic night, still vivid in her mind, gave her sometimes nightmares even now, after so many years.
Cassandra still remembered her life in the orphanage, the hunger, the beatings. Before the Tutelary Authority took her away, Robert’s last words gave her hope and strength to endure the cruelty around her. “I’ll come for you.”
And he did come, ten years later, dressed up in uniform, solid and determined to take her home. He took care of her, put her through school and gave her a sense of normalcy. Because of her years in the orphanage, Cassandra had always struggled to become attached to and trust people. With Robert, it was different. She clung to him, the only person who had never deceived her, the only person who stood by her, no matter what.
“When do you plan to retire?” Cassandra asked.
Robert stood, walked away and returned with a piece of paper, handing it to her. “One more year and I’m done. This is my last assignment.”
She took the paper, read it, looked up at him, then back at the paper. She jumped to her feet and shouted, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! You, too?”
Robert’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead. “What do you mean, you, too? Who else is going?”
Cassandra hurried away and returned with her purse, digging nervously through it and when she couldn’t find what she wanted, she dumped its contents on the sofa. The piece of paper was, of course, the last item to fall. She gave it to Robert and waited for him to read it, holding her hands clasped together under her chin, waiting for his reaction.
He didn’t say a word, looking at her with his big, wide, blue eyes, open-mouthed.
By the look on his face, Cassandra knew her news shocked her brother.
She clasped his shoulders and shook him, her voice louder than normal, “We’ll share this deployment at the Black Sea. Then we’ll return home, you’ll open your restaurant and give me the nephews and nieces you promised.”
Robert scratched the back of his head, looking as if he didn’t know whether to be happy or not. “I guess … How about you? Still don’t want to marry?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, threw her arms in the air, and said, “Don’t care to be married, but I’ll open my own clinic, adopt a cute little girl and a puppy.” She hugged her brother, holding onto him fiercely. “I hated being in the army for so long, but now that I see the end of it so close, I’m actually happy I get one last chance to work so close to you.” She saluted and winked at him, “Major Toma, it’s an honor to serve with you!”
4
Mihail Kogalniceanu Air Force Base | Romania
January 15th, 2007 | 1600 hours
Thirty hours ago, David was still packing in his own home in Arizona. Eleven hours ago, he embarked for Romania on a civilian plane, his deployment papers in hand, his rucksack heavy on his shoulders. Thirty minutes ago, the stewardess announced the plane’s landing on Mihail Kogalniceanu Airport, near Constanta. He looked out into the endless sky and shook his head, What am I doing here?
Frosty air pinched his skin the moment he stepped outside the airplane. Its salty smell reminded David the Black Sea was near. Inside the small airport, a Master Sergeant saluted him vigorously, “Welcome to Romania, Major Hunt.”
David returned a quick salute and the man handed him a paper with Jameson’s name on it. He pointed toward the sliding doors, “The Humvee is this way, sir.”
David glanced at the man’s nametag sewn above his right breast pocket and replied, “Thank you, Sergeant Jones.”
Cruising through narrow, bumpy roads, David looked out the window. Depressing.
For miles David saw nothing except plain fields and then finally the city, with mounds of garbage bordering its outskirts. He had never before seen so much snow piled on the roadside, frozen, dirty as if someone had sprayed it with mud. All buildings—the same boring cement-gray color—looked alike, with very little space in between. It surprised him the amount of satellite antennas installed either on the roofs or outside the windows and the multitude of clotheslines, hanging either high on the balconies or tied on the balcony banisters. It appeared like an American ghetto from the fifties with satellite dishes.
Stray dogs roamed the streets, some in a pack, some loners, bony and in dire need of a bath. Parallel tram rails divided the streets, one in each direction. Every railway platform was crowded with people waiting. They hunched under dark heavy coats, holding onto thick scarves wrapped around their neck, some wearing fur hats, and some knitted ones, all wearing gloves and boots. From time to time, gypsy tunes traveled through the air, and David wondered who could possibly listen to music so loud that everyone on the streets was able to hear it.
Corners of intersections teemed with humanity. Farmers displayed an array of vegetable and fruits directly on tables out on the street, others—less fancy, on a piece of newspaper lying on the ground. Gypsy women, wearing traditional long, colorful skirts urged passersby to buy flowers, while their poorly dressed kids played close by, unaware of the cold, unaware of the world around them.
“What’s this place, a circus?” David shook his head.
“I’ve been here for the past three months, sir, and still wonder how they live in this country,” Jones glanced at him. “People work their fields using donkeys or horses with the most primitive tools, using gas lamps instead of electricity and traveling in carriages from village to village, while others drive the latest model of Lamborghinis or Porches. Nevertheless, their women are super hot and the best dancers I’ve ever seen.” Stopping at a red light, he pointed to his left, “Check that out.”
David looked in the direction Jones pointed. On the other side of the intersection, next to a silver Audi A4 a tall, slender woman, looked stunning as if she had just stepped out of a Playboy calendar, dressed in a white winter fur coat and mid-thigh high-heeled boots. She shook her long hair and stepped inside the car, driving away before the light turned green.
“I’d take her home if she’d let me,” the Sergeant said, chuckling.
“I can only imagine,” David said.
They arrived at the military base, where David presented his orders. Heavily under construction, the base swarmed with soldiers, technical staff and contractors. An Airman First Class, Airman Nunez, took him on a short tour, showing him the new dorms, offices and cargo warehouses, some of them still under construction, some already occupied. He briefly toured the hospital and mess hall and by the time he dropped his backpack on the floor of his living quarter, David realized he hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. He unwrapped a candy, took a quick shower and dropped on his bed. I’ll only rest for ten minutes; then I’ll unpack… As soon as he closed his eyes, David fell asleep instantly.
***
“Major Hunt, glad you joined us,” Colonel Jameson greeted him with a slap on his back and a handshake. As commanding officer, Colonel Jameson announced the daily briefing was over, signaling David to wait for him. “You settled in?” They walked out of the conference room, into the cold morning’s air.
“Yes, sir. I slept through the night. I’m done with the in-processing and ready to assume my station.”
“Good.” An Airman waited nearby with a Humvee idling and Jameson signaled David to come along. “I’m warning you, the hospital has been under construction since US troops arrived here, but you’ll find your way around. The idea of the reconstructive center was approved late last October, but for some reason they can’t seem to pull it together. Romanian labor and American technology mix like oil and water.”
They stepped out of the Humvee in front of the hospital and entered through its wide double doors into a large area, half reception, half waiting room. An elevator took them to the fourth floor, to Jameson’s office.
A young brunette typed vigorously on her keyboard, but stopped and jumped to her feet when she saw them entering. “Good morning, Colonel Jameson,” the young woman said with a thick accent. She followed them to his office and placed several papers on his desk. “These need your signature. These others are your meetings and the rest are confidential letters.”
Jameson quickly scanned the papers then lifted his head. “David, this is Elena, my new secretary. She is Romanian, but speaks perfect English, like the majority here. Elena, this is Major David Hunt; he’ll oversee the reconstructive center once finished. Find someone to take him on a tour and introduce him to the other medical staff.”
David shook the woman’s hand, “Nice meeting you, Elena.”
Her face reddened. She smiled and, turning on her heels, walked out but soon returned with two mugs of coffee, one for David and one for Jameson.
“I need to have a talk with Major Hunt; don’t let anyone disturb us.”
***
Two weeks later, David found himself still not used to the new place. The work done on the base—mostly by Romanian contractors—took longer than anticipated, a continuous battle to have functional equipment available. The hospital was a disaster; some areas still under renovation with painters, carpenters or electricians roaming the halls at all times. Electric cables hung unprotected from the walls, hazardous to anyone; when David pointed that to the Romanian chief on site, he replied, “We’ll do what we can to finish the job. Just pay more attention, sir.”
Some of the crates with state-of-the-art medical equipment brought from the U.S. were still piled outside, and nobody seemed to know when they would be able to finally install and use it. The deadline for the reconstructive center to be fully utilized was March 1st, but David seriously doubted that it would happen.
The medical personnel consisted of Americans and Romanians—all speaking English. One of the Romanian doctors, Lt. Mihai Constantin took him to the city a few times and showed him around. Constanta was Romania’s largest city near the Black Sea with ships from all over the world anchored in its harbor. Rapid water waves broke against deserted wide, long beaches; stray dogs seemed to own the beaches, sniffing empty plastic bags or beer cans, looking for food.
Mihai who lived with his wife, two kids and parents in a two-bedroom apartment invited him home for dinner where David experienced for the first time mamaliga cu sarmale, a Romanian traditional dish of cabbage rolls served with corn bread and sour cream. Mihai offered him the famous palinca, a Romanian beverage, so strong, the air refused to reach one's lungs and set the stomach on fire after one single sip. To prove its alcohol level, Mihai lit the clear liquid—it burned instantly. David refused to drink, under the pretext he was taking antibiotics, but wasn’t allowed to leave until he accepted a bottle of palinca, as a welcome souvenir to Romania.
David kept a simple routine. Between long hours in the hospital and briefings, he went regularly to the training center or ran alongside the beach, read most of the nights or played the piano in the mess hall, something that helped him relax after a long day in the operating room. He watched a few movies in the base’s small theater and accepted the challenge of a soccer game between the American and Romanian medical staff, men and women. The game ended with the Romanians winning 2-0, but the Americans asked for a re-match. Unless it rained, a second game was scheduled in two weeks.
Time seemed to move slower on this side of the world, with late sunrises and early sunsets. He stopped questioning what he was doing here, but knew it would be a long and lonesome deployment. He knew somewhere out there, there was the life he wanted, a happy family, but for some reason, he seemed unable to find it. He buried himself in work, keeping constantly busy with the hospital as if trying to make up for his failed marriage; at least he had his work to show he was good at something.
***
“I’m scheduled to perform two surgeries today, I doubt I can join you for chess,” David said, returning from the mess hall with Mihai. “Maybe another time.”
“Sure, we can do it another time. Listen, David, we should have a small artistic program for Valentine’s Day. You Americans are big on celebrating this, right?” The sliding doors opened when Mihai swiped his ID card. They walked together toward the elevator, as Mihai continued, “It will bring the medical personnel closer. Since we are all stuck here, we might as well get to know each other better,” he ended entering the elevator.
“What do you have in mind?” David asked.
“Well, unfortunately I’m not going to be there, but our personnel will do a karaoke concert. And then there is Dr. Damian, who does stand-up comedy. I think it would be fun to cheer people up, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure we can organize something,” David said, shook Mihai's hand and walked toward his office. “I have to go now, my patients await.”
David went on the morning rounds. Four new soldiers were brought in overnight, two in critical condition, one of them with burns on both legs and back, the other with a missing arm, but stable. The number of injuries and missing limbs due to improvised explosive devices were the majority of their cases, much more than he’d seen during his other deployments. The Iraqis stepped up their attacks as Jameson predicted.
He had skipped lunch all together when he finally made it to his office late in the afternoon.
“Major Hunt, we have a few problems,” Violeta, his new secretary, a plump redhead said when she saw him coming in. “The head-electrician stopped by and said he’s struggling with the installation of the lighting systems in the new OR, unless someone gives him a translation of the instructions.” She followed him in his office with a handful of documents. “Also, I need your signature as soon as possible; the messenger will be here shortly to pick up correspondence.”
David sat at his desk, looking annoyed at the pile she stacked on his desk. Since he came to Romania three weeks ago, he had signed more papers than in his entire career, a lot of them not even related to his job—construction orders, payment approvals, endless inventories.
“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, pushing them aside. He rubbed his eyes and squeezed both temples—another one of those daylong, insufferable headaches.
Violeta handed him three painkillers and a glass of water. “And then, there are several trucks that brought in a load of new beds, but we don’t have room to deposit them, since the center is not fin—”
David slapped his desk with both hands and rose to his feet. He saw Violeta flinch and take a step backward, but it was too late to correct his reaction. “Useless morons,” he said before exiting his office.
***
“I don’t get it. Why is it so hard to finish the job? You have all the tools, all the supplies, yet I still see the same cables hanging out of the walls, as they were when I got here, almost a month ago. What about the tiles in the bathrooms; why can’t someone get things done from start to finish? We continue to receive more and more patients and if this center is not finished, we’ll end up with gurneys in the hallways,” David said, annoyed.
He made a daily routine visit of the construction site. Not that anyone expected him to do that, but he thought if he were in their faces, every single day, they’d get tired of him bitching and hurry up.
“We do the best we can, Dr. Hunt,” the Romanian chief on site said, pushing his hardhat backward to scratch his head. “The deadline is March 1st and we are going to be done by then.”
David looked around him. “Even if you work night and day, I don’t see that happening. I’ll be here again tomorrow.”
He left without another word.
“David!” He heard Jameson’s voice down the hall.
“Sir,” David turned and stopped to see his ex father-in-law hurrying his way. "How are you, sir?"
“At ease, Dave,” Jameson said, patting him on the back. “I’m going into town tomorrow to meet with the mayor and a bunch of people from the City Council. We renovated two schools and one hospital and they want to thank us.”
“It’s nice we do things for others, but it’d be nicer if we could finish what we need here, in this hospital,” David said, his voice bitter.
Jameson squeezed David’s shoulder and began walking slowly. “Have patience, Dave. Things could be worse. Why don’t you come with me tomorrow? We’ll visit the schools, the hospital. It’ll help you relax a bit.” Before Jameson disappeared into the elevator, he said, “Meet me tomorrow at 0730 at the chow hall.”
5
Mihail Kogalniceanu Air Force Base | Romania
February, 14th 2007 | 1700 hours
“I’m starving,” Cassandra said, towel-drying her hair. She put her cell phone on speaker, then continued, “I could come to the base, meet you at the mess hall.”
“That’s fine. It might be a bit crazy with this whole Valentine’s Day celebration, but I’m sure we’ll find a table,” Robert replied.
“How do you like those Yankees?”
“They’re all right. We talk during briefings, but once I’m back with my soldiers, I don’t spend that much time with them. We’ll talk more when you get here. See you at 1800?”
“Works for me.” Cassandra pressed the end-call button, then turned on the hairdryer.
She’d arrived in Constanta two days ago. Her rental, a two-bedroom apartment was tiny, but clean, about fifteen minutes—eight if she sped—away from the base, but closer to the beach. She wanted Robert to stay with her, but he argued that his place was with his soldiers; besides he had his own room on the base. She told him that was an open subject and she’d pester him until he agreed. She’d gone once to the base to pick Robert up for lunch. She didn’t meet any of her new colleagues, nor did she present her orders to her new superior—her services due February 15th.
Cassandra unplugged the hairdryer and brushed a hand through her hair. The images on TV caught her attention, while the reporter said, “A delegation of American officers met today with Mr. Vasilescu, the city’s mayor, as well as with members of the City Council. During the two-hour meeting, they discussed further American involvement of the reconstruction and renovation of various facilities as well as rehabilitation of the street infrastructure to optimize the traffic flux in and out of the city. The meeting ended with a tour of the two schools and the county hospital that have been already renovated. We look…”
“Sure, we need the Americans to come from the other side of the earth to do that for us, since we are too stupid to do it on our own,” Cassandra said out loud and turned the TV off. She could care less about politics, especially Romanian politics, with its corrupt leaders, almost all of them the same individuals that served under Ceausescu’s regime.
She applied make-up—smoky eyes, heavy mascara and pale pink gloss then finished styling her hair. The humidity in the air made straightening it impossible. Maybe she should accept that Mother Nature wanted her to have curly hair. She used a few hair products and in the end her curls looked shiny and bouncy down her back. A black sweater and a pair of jeans she had bought during her last trip to Los Angeles made for the perfect outfit. She put on her high-heel boots and winter coat, grabbed her purse and left the apartment.
Cassandra arrived at the base and parked her car close to the mess hall. People came in and out of the large facility, some smoked, some chatted, some laughed. As she walked by several groups, she heard the usual whistles and comments, but she ignored them—too accustomed to this kind of behavior to take it seriously.
She entered the mess hall and stopped. The place was indeed packed. I’ll never find Robert. Balloons, flowers and banners with “Happy Valentine’s Day” reminded everyone about the special day. Six long rows of tables seating a mixture of people on the base, a buffet style area equipped with food-serving counters, and three separate stations for freshly cooked hamburgers and hotdogs. Close to the exit door were several vending machines and, to her surprise, along the west wall, a bar area with every single barstool taken. On the very back wall was a stage with a few musical instruments, tall speakers and a microphone. Someone just finished playing the guitar and by the sound of the ovation, it must’ve been a good number.
The smell of fresh cooked food reminded Cassandra how hungry she was. She stepped outside the room and dialed Robert’s cell number.
“I’m here, by the entry. Come and get me,” she said when he answered, but didn’t wait for his reply.
Minutes later, Robert opened the door and held it for her. “Come in, Cassandra; I’m sitting with a bunch of my guys,” he said, taking her hand. He walked ahead of her, slowly, until they reached a table closer to the back of the room and near the stage. Someone—by the uniform, an American began singing.
“Guys, this is my sister, Cassandra Toma, doctor Cassandra Toma.”
The men stood and Cassandra shook everyone’s hand. She pretended not to notice their nudging and the assessing looks they gave her.
“My stomach hurts, doc. What could it be?” said one of the officers.
“Doc, I’m sick. I think I have fever,” another one said, followed by laughter.
“You’ll have a black eye, soon, if you hit on her,” Robert said and everyone at the table burst into more laughter. “Listen up, everyone, my sister is off limits. No ifs, ands or buts. Look after her, I’m sure she’ll get hit on a lot, but you’re her fellow Romanians. Copy that?” Robert tried hard to keep a serious face, but his smirk earned him a pinch and an elbow from Cassandra.
“I’m not helpless, brother. I can speak for myself,” she rolled her eyes. “Come, let’s get some food,” she added, and Robert again took her hand and walked ahead of her.
Pushing a tray and waiting in line to get food, Cassandra looked once more around the room. To her surprise there was more laughter than any other base she had been on and more civilians.
“It seems there are more women than usual, don’t you think?” she asked Robert, inclining her head toward him. The noise seemed louder closer to the stage. Someone was doing karaoke and several soldiers in the audience sang along
“Lots of locals work here, but because of Valentine’s Day, soldiers have brought their girlfriends, too.”
“You mean, American soldiers mix with Romanian women?” she picked up a plate with green beans and grilled chicken, placed it on her tray and moved further.
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” She picked up a fruit tart. “We’ll have a lot of little Yankees left behind when these guys up and leave.” She chose a bottle of water and balanced everything on her tray, following Robert back to their table.
Later that evening, the stage was the hot place to be. Americans and Romanians took turns singing, playing instruments, dancing or telling jokes. Valentine’s Day became a common reason not only to celebrate, but also to bring together people from opposite hemispheres.
“A lot of talented people tonight. Cassandra, you should sing,” Robert said. “Your vo—”
The end of the word was muffled by Cassandra’s hand over Robert’s mouth. She stepped on his boot to make sure he’d suffer for talking too much.
“You sing?” two of the officers asked at the same time.
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Yes, but not in public.”
“She plays the guitar, too,” Robert said, jumping to his feet before Cassandra could reach him.
“Oh, you’ll pay for this,” she shook a finger at him.
He laughed and sat on the opposite side of her. “I forgot you’re such a chicken,” Robert winked at her.
“Come on, Dr. Toma, you can’t refuse our unanimous request for you to sing,” the young officer to her left said. He'd tried all evening to get her attention, earning himself two warnings from Robert and a promise to get his butt kicked if he didn’t stop hitting on her.
All five officers, with Robert as the instigator began chanting her name out loud, until everyone around called, “Ca-ssan-dra, Ca-ssan-dra, Ca-ssan-dra!”
She covered her ears with both hands and tried to duck lower. Her cheeks burned, her heart raced knowing all eyes were on her, hating the attention. She shook her head and squinted her eyes, pointing a threatening index finger at Robert—if he were still alive by the end of the night he’d beg his Maker for mercy.
With no way out of this without singing, Cassandra finally stood and walked to the stage. She stopped next to the microphone and said, “Since everyone here understands English, but not everyone understands Romanian, I’m going to speak English, so no one feels left out.”